


The Downfall

by Death_me_up



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Am I projecting??, Down To Have a Panic Attack, Draco and Harry are BFFs and its a lil gay, Draco is Always on the verge of a heart attack, Draco is always DTHPA, Draco is falling apart, Gen, Harry Is A Horcrux, Harry is scary as heck, Horcrux making, Horcruxes, I mean his hair is falling out from the stress poor guy, Implied Harrymort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Is anyone gonna stop me though?, It is seriously creepy, Less horcruxes, Listen Voldemort is fucked up what did you expect, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Pedophilia, Poor Draco, Sane Lord Voldemort, Sane Tom Riddle, The dark lord is creepy, Tom Riddle | Voldemort Adopts Harry Potter, Uh no, Voldemort Raises Harry, What did you expect being friends with Harry is stressful, brutal mutilation, im sorry, implied tomarry, it did not start out like that, naive Harry, probably, the wizarding world falls, this became real dark real fast, underlining pedophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 16:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11786694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Death_me_up/pseuds/Death_me_up
Summary: Tom Marvolo Riddle is a little smarter with his Horcruxes and is, therefore, a little saner in his dealings with the Potters. A story about the infamous Dark Lord and the downfall of the wizarding world.





	1. Tom Marvolo Riddle

**Author's Note:**

> A little idea that came to me after reading a beautifully written story about a man and his garden. Not at all relevant to what I wrote, but I really appreciated the writing style, and once I started writing, the plot just came to me and I couldn't stop. Fair warning, this is really creepy, and awful, and graphic. You were warned.

Harry James Potter was a quaint little creature.

Quite like a wild doe, perhaps, and his beauty unparalleled by any other. It was the eyes that reminded Tom of a doe the most. So wide, and innocent, and trusting. He was thin and wispy, and the rest of his features only cemented the doe-like image. Harry was almost heartbreakingly beautiful; the soft cheekbones and blinding smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he threw his head back and laughed (not that he had much to laugh about), or brows furrowing when he was deep in thought. The messy, tousled hair that refused to be tamed no matter what happened, much like the child on top of which it resided, but he would be tamed eventually, the Dark Lord knew. And the eyes. Their blinding shine was almost alien in nature, the rich, green-apple color, unlike anything that should be possible in this world.

_His existence_ should’ve been impossible- and yet there he stood, the Dark Lord’s prophecied equal, so full of carefully masked uncertainty and desperation it made Tom's heart ache. A creature not seen by many others, or seen and tossed aside, never truly appreciated the way he was meant to be. The horrifying scar on his forehead, that stretched down into and past his eye, turned many away, telling them of a terrible past not many wanted to know of. The scar on his forehead told the boy nothing of _his own_ past, for he could not remember the event that gave it to him. It was a truly awful thing that happened when he was only a one year old, and a combination of his young age and his brain repressing the memory caused him to have no recollection of the event. Which was probably for the best, the Dark Lord mused. No use scaring him away with memories he could not quite appreciate just yet. But he would appreciate it one day. Tom would make sure of it.

The scar was merely another thing that set Harry off from the rest, made him different, and he hated it. He was different from the Dark Lord by the fact that Tom had always aspired to be different, special when everyone considered him ordinary and boring. Harry, however, was the opposite; thought to be different and a scarred freak by many, all he ever wanted was to fit in.

Not many truly saw him for what he was, for he was a tender creature, a meager, easily frightened creature, crafted by years of abuse, that should be approached with the utmost care lest he is scared off.

He, of course, did not see himself this way; for he thought himself a prideful lion, courageously running headfirst into danger with careless abandon. Always tossing his own well-being aside for others, even random children on the playground. Never appreciating the value of his own life, thinking it worthless, thinking _himself_ worthless, never _truly_ understanding exactly what his reckless flight would do to the people that cared, that loved him.

Not exactly surprising when one considers the fact that no one had ever told him they loved him save his long gone parents. He now thought, _How could I possibly be loved? I am a wasteful disgrace, a lazy freak, unworthy of love and affection._ The miserable, hateful Dursleys, so _full_ of the desperate need to be ever so _perfectly_ normal, so _impossibly_ perfect they threw away any affection they might have had for their own flesh and blood in favor of beating this mantra into the innocent little creature's head until he bled. For his little doe did bleed; he bled for their sins, and for that, they deserved to suffer. The Dursley’s had touched what was rightfully his, and they _would_ come to regret it. But as a result of their actions, the little one now did not understand the worth of his life. For how could he? No matter how many times he would be informed, pled with, begged to understand, he would not, could not. Lessons learned in the youth are not so easily forgotten. So he would keep throwing his life away until he was taught otherwise. And Tom would make sure he was taught otherwise.

Like now, for instance. Standing in the Dursley’s front yard, facing the person he should consider his sworn mortal enemy, who killed his fiercely protective and desperately loving father, who sent his mudblood mother into an endless sleep, who could not be so easily defeated himself, innocence and naivety shining brightly in the wide, doe eyes still unmarked by age, he asks, "Who are you?"

The question is filled with so much undeserved hope, curiosity, and desire that Tom is overwhelmed for a moment. He settles for a raised eyebrow while he marvels at how much innocence is left in the child for him to destroy.

"I’m here to take you away from your relatives," He soon tells the young child simply. The way his eyes immediately widen is almost comical; the expression of masked curiosity on his face turning into one of pure, unadulterated joy and awe, then suspicion, then, again, curiosity, which was quickly masked with as much skill a four-year old child could have.

"Why?"

The simple question takes him by surprise when it really should not have. Why indeed.

It must have started with his loyal follower, Severus, begging for him to spare the mudblood mother of this child. He agreed, of course, going as far as to promise that he would only stun her if it came down to it. If sparing the girl would keep Severus loyal, he had no qualms with it. It was not her he came for, after all, but the little doe-looking child currently looking up at him with suspicious eyes. He went into the house fully intending to spare her; if Severus wanted to keep her as a trophy, so be it. Service such as Severus provided deserved to be acknowledged and rewarded, to encourage further hard work. He earned it by providing him the prophecy, so he would get his one wish.

Obviously, he killed the boy’s father, the man who stood up to him so bravely three times before, the man who fell without much of a fight. What a waste of perfectly good blood. The eldest Potter would’ve made an excellent addition to his Death Eaters, but instead, he chose to join the so-called “light”, and marry a mudblood. He did not have his wand, and was utterly unprepared, fully believing the coward he called his friend would keep the secret of his location, would keep him and his family safe.

Peter Pettigrew was a conundrum at first. The best friend of James Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin, he was not a tag along, as some would believe. Tom had been through his head thoroughly; he knew Potter, Black, and Lupin would easily die for him, sacrifice everything for their friend. The three were loyal to the core, and yet their fourth broke so easily under pressure. In the beginning, he found this to be slightly intriguing. Why would Pettigrew, who became an animagus for his struggling friend, who provided comfort and support and everything he could to ensure the comfort of the other three, break so easily? He loved them as they did him. So why?

Soon, he found the answer. Pathetically, and a bit unsurprisingly, he found it had lain in Pettigrew’s inferiority complex. Despite the infinite proof otherwise, he always considered himself somehow inferior to his more accomplished, better-looking friends. Upon finding this out, Pettigrew had become another boring, simple-minded moron to Tom. It was a fortunate scenario for the Dark Lord since it was something to exploit, and a way to get to the Potter’s child, but Pettigrew was truly disappointing.

But the Potters had unwittingly played right into his hands.

None of that was of any consequence now, however. He had killed Pettigrew once his usefulness expired.

After killing the eldest male Potter with his favorite curse, Avada Kedavra, he continued on upstairs. He found the door to the nursery locked, which was a minor nuisance at worst, and just as he was about to use a simple unlocking spell, Severus had apparated right in front of him.

Tom found he owed a lot to Severus. For many years afterward, they would speculate endlessly about what would’ve happened if Severus had been several minutes too late, or if he had chosen not to come at all. Nothing good, they knew that for sure.

But as it happened, Severus apparated directly to the Dark Lord, dropped onto one knee and told him the full prophecy that he had just found out from one Albus Dumbledore.

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...."_

Marked as his equal. Either must die at the hand of the other. Tom’s head spun with all the repercussions the full prophecy had.

On the one hand, having someone that could equal him was a dangerous, unnecessary risk. The boy could turn against him and if that were to happen, they would be equal in power. The following fight would prove to be difficult, to say the least.

On the other hand...

The boy could be just the advantage he needed to win the war. Another person as powerful as him, helping him with the war effort, almost sounded too good to be true. The words “Either must die at the hand of the other for neither could live while the other survives,” however, provided another potential benefit, and a major one, at that. Prophecies, as Tom knew, were very fickle things. The slightest intonation could mean the difference between foreshadowing a victory or a death. Tom considered that a possible meaning of this could undoubtedly be viewed as immortality. The prophecy stated either _must_ die at the hand of the other, further implying they could not die by any other means.

Now that, _that_ was just simply too sweet for Tom, who had been endlessly searching for immortality ever since he was forced to return to the orphanage in the midst of World War 2, to give up.

No. The boy was most assuredly too valuable to just kill as he had originally planned. The possibilities he presented were too infinite, too worthwhile.

In the next minute, Tom had come up with a new potential plan of action. As he had initially planned, he unlocked the door after ordering Severus to make himself scarce. Letting himself in, he stunned the foolish, red-headed mudblood, not giving her an opportunity to beg for her son’s life. He didn’t think he would have killed her even if Severus hadn’t specifically asked him to spare her. Love magicks were too fickle, too unpredictable to even risk her death being sacrificial and backfiring on him. And she definitely loved her son. Considering for a moment, he also used on her a special spell he created a few years ago, one that sends the victim into a deep, endless sleep, impossible to be woken from by anyone besides the person that cursed them, with a counter spell he also created himself. He had spent quite some time carefully crafting such a spell, and hadn’t gotten a chance to try it out until now. He was glad to see his hard work finally come to fruition. The little girl should be honored to have been the experiment of such a spell, not that someone like her could ever _truly_ understand the _intricacies_ of spell work, and the effort that goes into creating a brand new spell.

Turning his back on the silly little mudblood he had promised to his Severus, he finally brought his attention to the little reason he was there in the first place.

The boy was a small thing, with wide, apple green eyes and a tuft of black hair on a head that was too large for his tiny body. He wore a maroon sweater with green dragons pictured on the front, carefully stitched with overwhelming love by the woman currently deep into an artificial sleep on the floor.

The eyes looked at him with unmasked curiosity and wonder, marveling at the display of lights that had taken place only a few moments before. Peculiarly, he did not seem all too afraid of the stranger that had made his beloved mother fall to the floor. The ridiculous child seemed too enthralled with the lights that had flashed from the end of Tom’s wand and was now presumably demanding more, gurgling and pointing at the wand.

Pocketing his wand (which made the child let out a gurgle that sounded disappointed), he carefully made his way toward little Harry Potter. Slowly picking him up, he cradled the child to his chest. This has simply been too easy. The only thing Tom had yet to accomplish was marking the child as his equal, making him _his,_ but he had an idea for how he was to do that. Summoning the necessary tools, he got to work on making his third, and final, Horcrux, using the death of the boy’s father.

Making the boy a Horcrux would not only ensure the boy would get some of his powers and truly have a chance at being his equal but also have the added benefit of being one more fail-safe to protect the Dark Lord’s immortality.

Taking his wand, he quickly tied up the young child, sat him down leaning on the crib, and summoned James Potter’s prone body. Working quickly, he took a butcher knife and stabbed into the dead body, working quickly and efficiently to carve out the heart. He cut out the skin around the area where Potter’s heart is and put the skin on the child, not for any reason besides making the child cry, and because he liked seeing the boy covered in his father’s blood. He used his wand to force Potter’s rib cage open and ripped out the still heart. Setting it down in a special ritual container, Voldemort relished the child’s tears, but still anticipated hearing the child’s screams when he did the next step.

Thinking for a moment and then soaking his fingers in the gaping wound that used to be the elder Potter’s chest, he carefully traced a lightning bolt on the young boy’s forehead, and on both sides of the area around his eye. Then, grabbing the knife he used to carve out the Potter’s heart, still covered in his blood, he used it to carve out the pattern on the boy’s forehead, chanting the ritual over the small child’s screams. The screams faltered when Harry’s mouth was flooded with his own blood, and he choked on it. The Dark Lord reveled in the sounds and sight in front of him, of his prophecied equal choking on his blood, and covered in it. The chanting continued as he made a long cut in his own palm, and he smeared his own blood over the boy’s forehead. Tenderly, he pressed his thumb to the boy's lips, tracing the outline of them, feeling the smooth, soft skin slick with blood under his finger. He vowed, at that moment, that the boy would be his. No matter what it took.

Turning away from the little doe for a moment, he grabbed James Potter’s heart, and after chanting some more, took a giant bite of it, chewing quickly and swallowing. The young boy’s screams reached a whole new level while the Dark Lord feasted on his father’s heart. Eventually, he finished the heart and started chanting again, nearing the end of the ritual. He focused on shoving exactly the amount of his own soul that he wanted in through the scar, and as his soul split, his own screams joined the child’s.

The whole process was finished by the time he came back into awareness. Little Harry was still crying hysterically, in pain and fear and horror over what he had witnessed, despite not fulling understanding the ramifications of it. The boy wouldn’t know, nor appreciate the true extent what had just happened for quite some time, still. Tom had just put a piece of his own soul into the boy, which transferred with it some of his own powers, a surefire way to make the boy his equal if Harry’s natural born powers weren’t enough to do so already.

Suddenly, he heard the tell-tale cracks of apparition and knew it was Dumbledore and his goons. Cursing, he packed everything up with a wave of his wand and banished it, and apparated away, leaving behind a screaming, hysterical, mutilated child sitting near his father’s dead and mangled body, and his cursed into a forever-sleep mother.

* * *

 That had happened three years ago, when the little creature standing in front of him, his precious _Horcrux_ , was merely a one year old. He had poured a little over one-eighth of his soul into the boy, much more than he had in his other two Horcruxes, but of course, this boy was special.

But how to explain to him all that had transpired in a way that wouldn't frighten him away just yet?

He spent some time watching the boy after he found him, needing to know how the little doe was doing before approaching him. Seeing the Dursley’s actions towards the boy, he knew they would have to pay for what they had done. Harry was _his._ No one else is allowed to even so much as lay a finger on him.

He knew the boy well now. He knew his deepest dreams and ambitions. He knew the boy’s likes and dislikes. The boy was an open book; diving into his mind and fishing out the necessary information was effortless. Now, he knew precisely what to say to make the child come with him.

“I knew your parents,” The Dark Lord stated gravely, watching the child’s reaction. “I care about you very much. It took me a long time to find you because a bad man had hidden you away from me, but I had friends that helped me. You’re very important to me.” The truth, mostly. “I know the Dursley’s aren’t very nice to you, but I will be much nicer, I promise.” A lie. He will do whatever he wants to the boy. Harry is _his._ His Horcrux. His little doe. The boy’s flesh, heart, and mind belong solely to him. “I'll even give you treacle tart, whenever you want. Will you come with me?” He reached out his hand.

After a moment of consideration, Harry took his hand. “Anywhere is better than here,” He muttered darkly. Then, brightening up, he asked, "Can you tell me about my parents?"

"Anything you want," The Dark Lord promised. 

Lord Voldemort turned away to hide the malicious grin that covered his face at the little doe’s willingness to come with him. The boy would come to regret ever taking his hand. He knew he would _eventually_ teach the boy to worship him, worship the very ground he walked on, the very air he breathed, but the boy will not be quite so willing to learn. He is quite stubborn; one more thing that will have to be beaten out of him. The boy will have to be trained hard to be worthy of standing beside him one day, as his equal, as the prophecy foretold.

For the time being, he knew his little doe would have to suffer. Harry James Potter belonged to him in _every single way,_ and the Dark Lord would make sure he knew it.

But for now, as they walked away into an abandoned alley, the little boy trailing behind the infamous Dark Lord, Tom could not help but smile. He was holding the hand of the person that will be the downfall of the wizarding world. Together, they would make the whole world fall to its knees.


	2. The Heir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has had Enough of the Dark Lord's shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys I hate myself too :))) but here's the next Trash I hope you don't hate it as much as I do. Where did all my eloquence and professionalism go??? idk probably somewhere with my self esteem AHEM ANYWAY this is from Harry's POV so it's a lot less photosynthesis than the last chapter

Harry marched into the palace, slamming the door behind him before falling to his place at the Dark Lord’s feet. It was a moment of silence, the tension thick in the air as everyone held their breath, anxiously anticipating the news the young Lord brings.

“Rise, and speak,” the Dark Lord said impatiently, watching as Harry jumped up to his feet, keeping his head bowed. “My lord,” he said hurriedly, looking around at the Dark Lord’s most loyal. “I bring news of the resistance.”

“Well? Go on child, you are trying my patience.”

“It has fallen,” Harry says, heart pounding at the words but a cruel smile flitting across his lips nonetheless. “Tonight, we have won. The last of the resistance has fallen at my hand, and the Ministry is ours. Hogwarts is ours. It’s over. We won.”

There was a moment of shocked silence, a split second where everybody dared not believe their ears, before they broke into hysterical cheers and applause, hugging each other, laughing and celebrating. In the midst of the uproar, Harry spotted Regulus and Severus muttering to each other, their heads close together.

“We must celebrate! Party tonight, mandatory for everyone. At long last it is over, we deserve a break!” Rabastan declared, grinning madly. He was the one who always wanted to throw a party for any occasion, but this time he at least had a valid reason.

“Not so fast,” the Dark Lord said with a small, vicious smile. “We must not party quite yet.”

He stood, silencing the disgruntled muttering that arose from his interference. “We will secure our positions first. Make sure everyone else is properly cowed. Then,” he smirked, “I believe you all are deserving of a good reward.”

The meeting didn’t last long after that. Everyone was clearly anxious to get to the partying, but a few _reminders_ assured their patience. After ensuring his followers’ obedience, the Dark Lord calmly stated his orders and heard out the few reports, but dismissed everyone soon anyway. Harry knew his place, staying silent and sitting back on his legs in front of the Dark Lord, facing their followers.

A while after the meeting was done, Harry remained in place, knowing better than to move, remembering with a shudder the last time he had moved without permission. The Dark Lord approached him slowly from behind and Harry had to force himself to remain still, not to tense up or violently flinch.

“Rise, my pet. Your place is no longer at my feet, but at my side,” he murmured, walking around to Harry’s front. Harry slowly stood, letting his confusion show.

“My Lord?” he asked hesitantly.

“I have been training you for this since your fourth year of life, my dearest pet. Now, today, you have reached your majority. You are ready to become the Dark Prince I have been training you to be since I first acquired you.”

Harry felt all the air in his body leave him in a whoosh, hardly believing his ears, but not saying anything.

“My heir. Today you have become a man and succeeded in your mission. Your prize?”

Harry numbly but obediently raised the wand he won from the old coot, the supposed leader of the light. He wasn’t even difficult to defeat. Mentioning a few choice names like _Gellert_ and _Arianna_ and _Aberforth_ and playing up the persona of an innocent brainwashed child still with the potential to be _good,_ and the old fool was practically on his knees, unable to make a single blow against him. It was simple to dispose of him after that, with him not even fighting back. Quite frankly, Harry was disappointed. He expected it to be a little more difficult to defeat the man his Father had been fighting against since he was a child.

The Dark Lord smiled, a slow and cruel smile, sending shivers down Harry’s spine. “Excellent, Harry.”

The use of his given name sent a jolt of shock that he felt down to his toes.

“You have done well. Now go celebrate your birthday. It is not every day that a young man comes into his majority, is it not?” Harry numbly shook his head.

“Yes, of course. Perhaps go visit the young Malfoy? I heard he’s been quite insufferable after not getting to see you since you left for your mission.”

“I will, Father,” Harry replied, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling at the reminder of his best friend.

The Dark Lord grew serious. “Tomorrow, my pet, you will take your place at my side. But tonight, go and celebrate your victory. You have made me proud, my son. You will not be needed for a few more days. Tomorrow, when I see you once more, I will give you your present.”

Harry nodded solemnly, trying to calm the swirling of anxiety deep in his gut. “Thank you, Father,” he whispered. He didn’t dare acknowledge the anticipation filling him that came with the knowledge of exactly what it is he was going to get. The Dark Lord nodded once, dismissing him, and Harry turned on his heel, heart pounding, and stalked out of the ballroom.

Once he was out of the Dark Lord’s sight, he ran down the long, winding hallways that he knew like the back of his hand the rest of the way to his room, whipping open the door and slamming it shut behind him, and he pressed his back against it, chest heaving and eyes burning. The anxiety felt like it was eating him alive. He just came back from a four-week long mission where he was constantly either on the run, hiding, or fighting for his life and yet this meeting was the most stressful and anxiety-inducing part of it all.

“Uh. Hi?”

Harry whipped his head toward the intruder and relaxed when he saw it was only Draco sitting in the middle of his bed, with a raised eyebrow and a half-blown balloon in his hand.

“Oh, hi Draco,” he breathed, making his way towards his bed and collapsing face first onto it. Draco rolled his eyes.

“Well hello there Harry! I haven’t seen you in so long, how have you been? Are you hurt? Was the mission hard? Was it successful? You look taller, have you grown?”

Harry snorted, rolling over onto his back with an exasperatedly amused expression on his face. “Yes, Draco, the mission went well. I succeeded. I’m fine. No, I haven’t grown, and you full well know that you prat. Way to bring up a sore spot,” Harry listed off, then made a face at Draco. That made Draco laugh and Harry grinned back at him, relieved to finally see his best friend again.

Draco flopped onto the bed near Harry, looking right at home. Harry turned his head to look at him, cataloging the differences the four weeks had made.

Suddenly spotting something in the corner of his eye, Harry rolled over, sat up, and picked up a sock that was on his bed. He stared at it incredulously.

“Did you sleep in my room the whole time?” Harry asked innocently. Draco spluttered, trying and failing to come up with an appropriate reply before Harry continued, “Because that’s _your_ sock.” He scanned his room, spotting a lot more things that didn’t belong to him. “And a bunch of your stuff is scattered throughout my room.”

Draco just stared, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. Harry grinned.

Eyes falling on the balloon in Draco’s hand, Harry finally realized something. “Oh. Were you blowing up balloons for my birthday?”

Draco finally rolled his eyes, still looking a little panicked at being caught. “No, I’m blowing up balloons because that’s exactly how I like spending my free time,” he drawled, and Harry snorted at the sarcastic remark but looked ridiculously grateful anyway.

“I wouldn’t be surprised, honestly. But thanks, Draco. It means a lot to me.”

“I _know_ it does, you git, and that’s why I was trying to do it in the first place. Your lack of previous birthdays is astounding. I can’t believe you always just _happened_ to be busy on this day.”

“Well, I was. The Dark Lord doesn’t exactly give me days off, no matter what day it is. Besides, he doesn’t consider my birthday the day I was born, but the day he took me, and he sure does celebrate that- by giving me extra work. I think this is the first time ever that I’ve gotten a few days off, actually. I’m not like you, Mr. Play-With-Me-Harry-I’m-Bored,” Harry replied absently.

“Yeah, I know, I’m spoiled, so you’ve said. But I just hoped that maybe this year you would finally be home for your birthday, and here you are. A little late, it _is_ almost 2 am, but at least you made it on the right day this time.”

There was a moment of silence where Harry thought.

“Why didn’t you make the house elves do it? Or use magic? And why wait so long?”

Draco looked uncomfortable for a moment, before sighing and replying. “Honestly, it’s kind of fun to play with them. I made the house elves prepare our study room with all the decorations, that’s where the main party will be, but I wanted to blow the balloons up myself. And up until now, I was _busy_. I don’t actually have nearly as much free time as you make it sound. Besides, I wasn’t actually expecting you to show up on time. Else I would’ve cleaned up,” the last part was muttered to himself.

Harry smiled at him teasingly but didn’t offer up any reply and let them slip into comfortable silence.

Harry’s thoughts were a mess. The anticipation and anxiety filling his gut were too much for even occlumency to bring him any peace. His talk with the Dark Lord left him completely rattled, as being in his presence always did, but the overload of information left him exhausted and drained but also on edge. Harry soon gave up on trying to use occlumency, promising to himself that he’d work on it later. Despite having mastered the mind arts, he wasn’t a natural at them, not like Severus. It always took him much more effort than it should to master even basic skills. He was far too emotional for that.

Eventually, Draco warily spoke up, getting Harry’s attention.

“Harry? I assume when you came back there was a meeting, right? What happened there? You were near tears when you ran in.”

Harry’s face became grim. He sat up, straightening his back as Draco joined him.

“Unfortunately, Draco, I don’t think we’re gonna get to use the party room you set up. Dobby?”

“The room’s warded, yes.” They had come up with the code in honor of one of the Malfoy’s annoying house elves that had been all too eager to help the ‘kind Harry Potter’. He was killed by Draco’s aunt Bella for being caught dropping in on one of the Dark Lord’s secret meetings.

“There was a meeting when I got back. I ran in, told Him about my victory, and stayed until the end. He threatened me a bit, but much less than usual, obviously pleased with my success. Then, well, he told me to stay behind. He told me I am ‘no longer just his slave. I’m going to be his equal now, stand beside him’. He’s giving me the stone tomorrow. Everything is falling into place, Draco, it’s happening. It has to be tomorrow. I’m getting the stone tomorrow, I got the wand tonight and I already had the cloak. We have to tell Severus and Regulus and your mother it’s finally happening,” Harry said, sounding breathless with excitement, but also feeling a small twinge of apprehension which he quickly pushed down.

He looked up at the pale face of his best friend and saw that he seemed deathly afraid. Suddenly concerned, he frowned. “Are you okay? You know you don’t have to fight, right?”

Seeing as that didn’t help and, if anything, Draco looked even more nervous, he went on.

“It’ll mostly be me anyway, I merely need you to back me up just in case. I know this is huge, this is what the past few years have been leading up to and obviously there’s no guarantee I’ll even get the stone, or even if I do if our plan will work but it’s our best bet, the only thing we can do…” Harry trailed off.

Draco still hadn’t looked up, trembling slightly but obviously trying to mask it. “Draco, what is it? Are you scared?”

Draco didn’t react for a moment before he slowly nodded, cloudy grey eyes meeting faded green ones. “I’m scared of Him, Harry. I’m scared for you. You may be super powerful, and you may become immortal, but you’re not invulnerable.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m scared for me, too,” he finally said in a small voice. “I’m just me, Harry. You’re you, and I’m just me and I’m at the Dark Lord’s mercy.”

Harry’s expression shuttered, being replaced with a dark mask. “I won’t let him hurt you, Draco. Any of you. I would bend heaven and hell for you. I would break every law in the Universe to keep you safe. This is why I’m doing this, isn’t it? To keep you all safe.”

Draco refused to look up, and Harry thought there was a mixture of guilt in his expression. Harry wondered if he was guilty because he was scared, because he was worried about himself, or…

Harry’s expression twisted as a dark thought slithered into his very core. “Unless… are you having second thoughts?” he asked, dangerously calm. “Do you not want to stand beside me anymore, Draco?”

Draco looked shocked, as if he couldn’t believe what Harry said. “N-no, of course not, I would never betray you. Harry, I’d never,” he replied, looking aghast at the very accusation, but also surprisingly earnest.

He also looked terribly frightened.

His already pale face looked corpse-like, staring into Harry’s moss green eyes. Harry stared intently for a moment before relaxing, going from the Dark Lord’s weapon one moment to a normal teenage boy the next.  “Oh. Good. I’m sorry about that. I just thought…you looked guilty, and I needed to make sure. Sorry, Draco.”

Draco nodded, squeezing his eyes shut and looking down. Harry’s frown grew deeper and he slowly made his way in front of Draco’s face. “Hey, don’t be scared of me. Please don’t be scared of me. Never you,” Harry whispered, clutching Draco’s tense shoulders. “Unless you betray me, you have nothing to fear, Draco. You know I love you. You’re family. I don’t want to hurt you.” Draco held his breath one moment, before relaxing and nodding minutely.

Harry tried to catch his gaze, show him how earnest he was and how sorry for scaring him, but Draco resolutely looked down, avoiding him.

Harry was acutely aware of what was going on in Draco’s head and he wanted none of it. He knew what people said about him. Knew what kind of reputation he had. And it was well-deserved, even he had to admit, no matter how much he hated it.

The Empath. The Dark Lord’s Heart.

Harry knew exactly how people worked. It was instinctual, in his blood. He knew what made them tick, what secrets they held, and _precisely_ how to break them. He was all soft words and kind eyes, small, sympathetic smiles as he broke each of their bones and made them scream for mercy. And he would sit with them afterward. Sit and talk for a long time, telling them _I didn’t want to do this_ and _you forced my hand_ and _please behave, I don’t want to have to do this again_. He looked small for his age, so very innocent, so very fragile and delicate.

Soft green eyes like moss in the afternoon sun, soft messy black hair curling atop his head, all of him just seemed so _soft,_ so _fragile._ He made them feel guilty for fighting back, whispering words of not entirely faked fear to bring out every ounce of guilt and soak them in it until their mind buckled under the strain. He tortured with words, broke with kind gestures.

And then, when they were fully shattered, he threw away the parts he didn’t need and rebuilt them into whatever the Dark Lord demanded.

He hated it. Hated himself. But he knew what would happen if he didn’t, and despite any common sense and his rational mind screaming at him, he did feel a strange sense of loyalty to the Dark Lord and his cause. The wizarding world, the way it was before, was a disaster. It was about time they got a powerful ruler to make everything right again.

The fact that Harry knew that the Dark Lord wasn’t the one for the position didn’t stop him from helping the cause in any way he could.

He was the Dark Lord’s most prized possession, His beloved toy, His weapon. He was like an expensive glass statue, beautiful, untouchable. But when glass breaks it is sharp, pointed. Deadly. And his Master was nothing if not thorough, had made sure his darling pet was fully shattered, then molded him into a weapon worthy of the Dark Lord.

Harry tried not to remember those long months in the chambers after his first act of defiance. When he first realized _this isn’t what I was promised_ and started struggling and got thrown into the dungeons. The pointless defiance at first, then constant, unstoppable pain in his then tiny body. The constant torture, the whips and the searing fire and laying in blood and vomit and sleep deprivation and suffocation and spikes, his own body turned into a weapon against himself.

And ridiculously, the betrayal, too. He had been promised a life better than what he had at the Dursleys’. Instead, he was taken to Hell.

Though he tried not to, he remembered the moment his mind snapped. The moment where survival overtook all else. It was when the Carrows brought in the giant curved needles to sow his mouth shut that any sanity he had remaining in him left. He remembered the Dark Lord coming in, the pleading and begging and crying and the _please, please, please_ and the burning desperation inside being doused with icy water by the cold, empty expression looking down and slamming the door in his face.

He didn’t know which parts of him belonged to the little boy he once was and which parts were given by the Dark Lord. He didn’t know if that bothered him. Objectively, he knew his brain was still addled by not only the long months in the cold, damp, dark chambers but also the constant r _eminders_ afterward.

He remembered kneeling even after he was removed from the dungeons, flinching violently as the Dark Lord broke each of his fingers one by one but not daring to move away, knowing he would get taken right back if he did. He remembered cowering as the Dark Lord cornered him, he remembered the hunger pains and the blisters and the burns and the soreness and aching. He remembered long showers as he scrubbed at his skin until he bled trying to get the feel of Him off his skin, the constant anxiety, and fear eating away at his stomach. He remembered the dizziness, the inability to concentrate on anything, his gaze always empty and distant, trapped in the dungeons with his nightmares. Remembered the complete subservience that still took over in the Dark Lord’s presence.

He remembered when the numbness set in. When he first started showing his unique talents, desperate for approval. When he took his first victim, a bushy-haired brown-eyed girl who screamed and pleaded and cried and _bled,_ and how he threw up afterwards, feeling so _sick_ and _dirty_ and the hysteria that threatened to overcome him as she was taken away after he had done his job, kept at bay only by the expression on the Dark Lord’s face.

He remembered when he became accustomed to his new life and began to live, not just survive.

But even after, there was _something_ there. A pit buried deep inside him, a stone with a hidden message. A message from the boy he once was, whispered to himself over and over in the unforgiving darkness until it became a part of him, until he could feel it there but couldn’t say what it was. A message that he didn’t ever think about, didn’t dare consciously acknowledge, but it was always there. That message, that mantra, is what caused him to seek out Severus one night and in hushed tones confess to everything he believed a sin.

 

But Draco feared him.

Of course he did. Everyone sane did. He knew exactly what he was capable of, exactly why people shuddered when he passed and avoided eye contact yet still craved his attention, his approval.

But he didn’t want Draco to fear him. Draco was family, and Harry was fiercely loyal to his family. Severus, with his dry humor and quiet comforting presence and knowledge of potions, Regulus with his incredible intelligence and piercing gaze that could look right through you and read all your secrets, Narcissa with her sharp smile and mothering tendencies and remarkable healing abilities. Draco with his soft, kind interior hidden behind a sharp wit and mocking smiles and pointed angles and bones.

And like it or not, the Dark Lord was hurting them. So, he had to go.

That thought had never fully manifested itself in Harry’s mind; it was far too dangerous. The Dark Lord was not only extremely intelligent but also a master legillimence, and only the shields that Harry couldn’t acknowledge existed prevented Him from gleaning the memories of long nights they all stayed up planning and scheming.

The Dark Lord expected Harry to drop all shields in His presence. Harry was to be His; every part of him belonged to his master, including his mind. The random sessions where the Dark Lord completely unearthed everything in his mind, making him scream and writhe on the floor as his mind was violated, again and again, the Dark Lord sitting calmly on His throne and looking coldly down as he analyzed everything he found. All memories were exposed to him, but not intentions, or thoughts.

They weren’t planning to take down the Dark Lord; of course not. Merely ways to make Harry more powerful, possible escape routes in case of an attack, researching Horcruxes as a way to make Harry immortal, not to take it away from the Dark Lord.

As long as they kept believing those lies they were safe.

He would do anything to keep them safe.

Draco was staring at him, his eyes a bit brighter than usual, and Harry cupped the misty-eyed boy’s face and swiped his fingers across his cheeks. Draco grabbed his arms and held onto them like a lifeline. All thoughts of future plans vanished from his head as Draco swallowed nervously and murmured “I’m scared, Harry. The Dark Lord terrifies the shit out of me.”

The _you do, too_ went unspoken.

Harry cupped the back of Draco’s neck and drew the blond’s head down onto his shoulder. “I won’t hurt you, Draco.” _I could. I could completely shatter you. But I won’t._ “I won’t let him hurt you either.”

“I know.”

_I’m scared anyway_ is what he didn’t say, but Harry heard it regardless.

He rested his head upon the silky hair of his friend, momentarily pressing his lips to the top of the head and feeling the shudder that wracked the body in front of his. They could lightheartedly joke and banter all they wanted, but there were two sides to Harry. The side that was kind and friendly and had a comeback ready on the tip of his tongue to anything Draco threw at him, and the side that would make him destroy anything and everything he loved with no mercy. The side that loved his family and would do anything to protect them, and the side that could just as easily shatter them into pieces and force them down on their knees. And the two sides were always warring with each other.

There were times where Draco had said something that crossed all lines to aggravate Harry and ended up in the infirmary for two weeks. There were times Harry had stayed up all night talking Draco out of a panic attack even though he had an important mission the next day.

The truth of the matter was that Harry was broken. He had been broken by the Dark Lord and just when he would start healing, the Dark Lord would deal another blow that would shatter him again and leave him worse than before. He was unstable. Unreliable. He could kill without remorse, or spend hours crying because being so intuned to people’s emotions was incredibly overwhelming.

There was also the fact that Draco was the son of one of the Dark Lord’s followers and Harry was, for all intents and purposes, the Dark Lord’s son. Harry was on a completely different level from Draco, no matter how much they tried to forget that fact. They weren’t equal. Not even remotely.

And moments like this, when Draco was reminded of just how much more superior Harry was, just how easily Harry could control him (but he didn’t, he didn’t, _he didn’t_ ), it was hard to stay faithful.

All Harry had ever wanted was Draco to want him, not chose him because he was the option least likely to get him killed. And then it seemed like Harry had gotten it, or some semblance of it, as his friendship with Draco grew and developed beyond desperation into genuine companionship.

But Draco was a normal kid, a normal, _frightened_ kid thrust into the middle of a war and left with no viable choices.

Harry knew Draco had often thought of deserting them, of going to Dumbledore and getting any protection he was offered. Maybe not seriously consider it, but definitely think about it. He didn’t blame him.

He also knew that the reason Draco didn’t go wasn’t only because he feared the consequences from the Dark Lord. He didn’t go because despite everything, despite all the reasons he shouldn’t, he still loved Harry, just as much as Harry loved him. He was afraid, but he loved him, and that made Harry’s heart squeeze painfully tight.

Family was everything to Harry. Draco was family, Sev was family, Reg, Cissy. There were all there for him, there with him, and Harry didn’t want to know how much of it was fear. He liked to think most of it wasn’t fear.

After all, the long hours studying where Cissy would bring him snacks, the nights where she would carefully heal him up without saying a word. The quiet comfort Sev brought when everything was particularly bad, the scolding and worrying when he was doing something stupid. The genuine smile Reg gave him when he asked questions about his work and the bedtime stories he told sometimes when Harry was still a child and things were particularly bad. The countless hours of joking and playing with Draco, the friendship forged out of desperation but continued out of actual desire. All of that had to _mean_ something. People didn’t do that out of necessity; they did it out of affection.

It took Harry so long to realize that the Dark Lord wasn’t his family. That it was them the whole time, the people that cared about him. The people that didn’t hurt him, didn’t expect perfect subservience.

The Dark Lord may call himself Harry’s father, but Harry wasn’t his son.

All in all, Harry just wanted his family to be safe. He wondered if he would ever get that.

They stayed in that position for a while, Draco in front of Harry, resting his head on the green-eyed boy’s shoulder, his hands hesitantly coming out to gently grip the front of his shirt while Harry’s hand cupped the back of his neck and other hand rested on his arm. They stayed like that, silently, morosely, until the moment was broken by the chime of the Floo.

Untangling themselves, Harry cleared his throat and straightened his robes, and after glancing back and seeing that Draco was heading to the bathroom to get himself under control, he made his way to the floo.

He unlocked it and seeing who it was, he grinned.

“Severus! Perfect timing, I need you, Reg, and Narcissa here right now. I have...news. Urgent news. Draco’s here already.”

“Very well. We’ll be there in 5 minutes,” he replied, looking at Harry with a thinly veiled worry in his eyes. Severus was at the meeting too, and he knew exactly how being in the Dark Lord’s presence affected him.

Harry stepped away from the floo, letting it disconnect and burn blood red again, looking so much like the Dark Lord’s eyes that he shuddered before shuttering his mind shut and making his way to the bathroom, where Draco was fixing his hair in front of the mirror.

Draco was thin. He wasn’t ever small, he was too tall for that, but right now, he looked fragile. Vulnerable. _It would be so easy to break him,_ a traitorous voice whispered in his mind, but Harry flinched away from it and forced it down. Draco is family. He would rather die than hurt his family.

Their eyes met in the mirror. Harry was told that when he first came here, his eyes were a vibrant green, but over time they had become dull and washed out. The lightning scar zig-zagged from his forehead down into his eye, branching off at the brow like a tree, causing it to appear more like a real lightning bolt than what one usually drew, the thin white lines contrasting with his tanned skin. His hair was wild after several weeks of being on the run and fighting, but usually, it was neatly styled back into neat curls that framed his face. He had dark shadows under his eyes from long nights where he didn’t dare sleep, barely breathing in fear of being discovered. He had a lost a lot of weight from not eating properly for so long, and the constant running and physical exertion. He looked terrible.

Draco did too. His eyes were rimmed with red, and the dark shadows looked more like bruises under his eyes. He had a real bruise marring his cheek, blue and green and red and yellow, probably courtesy of his father. His eating habits were always terrible, so he looked a little too thin. His usually perfect clothes were rumpled, and his hair was a mess.

They shared a thin, brittle smile in the mirror, reaching an understanding in that moment. They were broken, they were a mess. But they were together in this. They had each other. They always would.

Harry heard the sound of the floo, and sighed. He patted Draco on the shoulder, then turned around and walked back into his room, where he caught sight of Severus and Regulus stepping out.

“Hello everyone,” Harry said with a forced cheerfulness that made the older men share a concerned look.

“Narcissa couldn’t make it. She had urgent business to take care of,” Severus stated, brushing himself off.

“Good evening, Harry, Draco,” Regulus said with a small grin before flopping down in an armchair in front of the fireplace and swinging his legs onto one of the armrests. Severus rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh before making his way to sit in the one as far as physically possible from Regulus, who then launched a pillow at the older man. Harry laughed lightly as Draco walked up to stand next to him, and they shared a grin at the disgruntled expression on Severus’ face.

“So, what’s up Harry? Is this a meeting, or a _meeting_?” Reg questioned cheerfully.

“Firstly,” Severus interrupted, “have you heard what happened to Dobby’s grave?”

“Yes, the room is warded with the strongest wards we know Sev, we’re not stupid,” Draco replied, annoyed.

“That’s debatable,” the older man muttered.

“It’s a very important meeting, actually,” Harry interrupted before this escalated into an argument. “As you know, I was successful in the mission, but what you don’t know is that I brought back a souvenir.”

Harry walked over to his bed, where he dropped the wand after taking it out of his pocket and took it to Severus, who let out a heavy exhale from his nose at seeing it. Draco and Regulus soon joined them, and they just stood together for a moment, staring at it.

“It’s the last one?” Severus said. It wasn’t really a question, but Harry nodded anyway.

“I can’t believe you did it. You really did it. You’re getting the stone tomorrow, and then that’s it. The last Deathly Hallow,” Regulus breathed, wide-eyed.

They were all silent, crowded around the wand, the tension thick in the air.

“Well? Is everything prepared?” Harry asked, tearing his gaze away from the wand.

Severus nodded and looked up from the wand to fix a steely gaze on Harry. “Are you sure you want to do this, Harry? There’s no going back from it.”

Harry let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. Yes. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. I can’t bow down to him anymore. I have to do this.”

Everyone shared a solemn look.

“Harry?” Draco said in a small voice. Harry looked over at Draco, who gazed at Harry with a hurricane of emotions swirling in his eyes. There was a beat of silence.

“Don’t die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO uh yeah hopefully it'll take me less than literally half a year to post the (possibly) last part but no promises !!!! ALso what do you think of a spinoff based on the missing years?? Like details of what happened to Harry during his captivity? I might write it

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so, so sorry for this. At first, I didn't include the Horcrux-making scene at all but while editing I decided it was necessary and that happened and I am so very sorry. Also, if anyone wants to follow me on Tumblr, it's harrypotterbutgay.


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